Projection
by MisterMaki
Summary: In a world where trees are happy to see elves, the language of plants is more than symbolism. Aragorn/Legolas SLASH.


  
Notes/Disclaimers:  
- This contains quietly homosexual content, so avoid if that's not your cup of tea.  
- In my world, Legolas doms Aragorn and is not so femmy as every one makes him out to be [as I do sometimes just for fun], but according to the challenge [see below], someone had to "laugh airily." Aragorn?  
- This was done as an improv challenge for LiveJournal community contrelamontre.  
- I'm not really happy with this.  
- Lord of the Rings and all the characters within are the creation of one J.R.R. Tolkien. The writing that follows, however, is mine. I don't think Tolkien would want anything to do with it.

  
  
  
**Projection**  
by Maki 

  
  
  
Even sedentary, it seemed to writhe there in the cup of Aragorn's palms, wild and obscene in its extravagant curves and color. It was excess incarnate, and it was beautiful. The root of the orchid was intact, pried with obvious care from whatever cranny it had fastened to, no doubt a task which required some luck to accompany skill. Aragorn had plenty of both, it seemed, but his eyes revealed no self-congratulation. They never did.   
  
Legolas looked away from the gratuitous plant, its ivory tendrils falling from the stalk not unlike the flow of the elf's hair behind him. "Where did you get that, Aragorn," he said, not asking, his voice carefully low.   
  
Aragorn did not answer that question which was not. He was not a rash man, but a patient one, who had lived this long by assessing and then confronting every situation, important or mundane, in a way he judged apt. He was not so different from the elves, sometimes.   
  
The flower remained raised between them, and though Legolas had his back consciously to it, he was sharply aware of the gentle offer. And he imagined Aragorn exactly as he was, body relaxed but poised, exhibiting that great and unlikely composure that he, the would-be King, possessed among all Men.   
  
"You stole it," said Legolas at length. He had known all along, of course, and usually he would not have waited to say what he knew, what they both knew, but he was confused. And he was surprised at the immature anger that flared in response to this confusion, his many years betraying him in the face of Aragorn's humanity. "Why did you steal this plant, Aragorn? Is not your mission only to accompany the Ringbearer safely to his destination? Why do you stray to the temptation of a pretty flower? And offer your stolen goods to me as if I would be an accomplice in this strangest of crimes?"   
  
He faced Aragorn now. They had not been traveling together so long. In the weeks before, the party had indeed been strained by quarreling and irritation amongst the party. Truly, it seemed only in Lothlórien had their Fellowship found peace, and an appreciation for their comrades' various good traits blossomed. Yet Aragorn had stolen from that very place of refuge.   
  
The sweet nectar of the orchid wafted softly between them. Aragorn's eyes were calm, but he seemed to be putting much thought into his response. "Know you, Legolas, that the protection of Frodo and riddance of The Ring are of primary importance to me." His words were firm, but not defiant. He understood both Legolas' argument and that it was not the elf's real concern, and yet with respect for his charade, he continued. "Know you, too, that I would not take with a gluttonous hand from the forests of Lothlórien, when to us they have meant nothing but warmth and healing. But..." And here he faltered, seemingly unsure not only of his words but motives. "But as I passed this resplendent plant nestled amongst the oldest trees, I noticed... Legolas," He declared, approaching him directly, and handing him the richly-colored flower solemnly so that Legolas had to take it, if only to complete the motion. "It appears to..."   
  
"It appears to what?" Legolas asked, still making his voice bite with reproof.   
  
"Want you."   
  
He laughed airily. "Doesn't anyone say 'please' anymore?" But his anger was fading. The tendrils had already wrapped themselves gently around his fingers, and the color of the petals fairly pulsed at the touch of him.   
  
Aragorn observed this silently.   
  
"Of course it wants me, Aragorn," said the elf at length, his voice falling heavily into the air. And he looked at the not-King with sad eyes, the orchid now cradled in his finally accepting arms. "You gave it to me."   
  
  
  
  



End file.
